


Colour Me Blue

by DanikaElfStone



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Asexual Enjolras, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 21:56:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7240009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanikaElfStone/pseuds/DanikaElfStone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his second year of university, Grantaire is beginning to let his disillusionment overcome him. The world growing ever bleaker with every new essay he must write. That is, until he meets Courfeyrac, and Courfeyrac's friends. Grantaire doesn't know how to fit in with this new group - one member in particular rubs him up the wrong way - but what he does know, is that he would be lost without them.</p><p>A tale of love and friendship. A tale of new beginnings, and a few endings. A tale of hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Charming Young Man

**Author's Note:**

> First of all I would like to thank weisbrot on tumblr for giving me the idea. This one's for you friend.
> 
> Second of all I would like to thank my wonderful beta's Rhuby and Hanan, for pointing out all the sentences that don't make sense, and for all the wonderful feedback and support.
> 
> And finally I would like to thank you the reader for reading this after this cheesy af note.

Grantaire was drinking alone when he first met Courfeyrac. It had been a long day. He had had a meeting with his tutor, and, long story short, he was fucked. He’d spent the rest of the afternoon in the library trying to finish his report and his brain was fried. He was in desperate need of a wind down, so he’d made his way to his usual bar for his usual drink. On a Thursday night the place was half empty, but he was glad it was quiet- when the bar was too packed, he could hardly hear himself think. Sometimes that was good, but right now all he really wanted to do was step back from being a student. Get it out of his head. So it didn’t particularly matter that the bar was only filled with a low buzz, right now, the fewer students the better.

He was on his second beer when someone slid onto the bar stool next to him.

“Do you ever wonder, like, what’s the fucking point?” He asked Grantaire.

“All the goddamn time.” Grantaire replied, and took a swig of his beer. He was surprised to be suddenly dragged out of himself and into conversation with a literal stranger, sure, but _what the hell_ , he thought, nothing mattered.

“Like, you try your best, throw everything you’ve got at something, and then,” he gestured vaguely in front of him, “Poof! Gone! You know?”

“I’ll say.” Grantaire didn’t have a clue what this guy’s deal was, but he did have a point.

“It’s like, when you try so hard and you don’t succeed.” He continued, and laughed at his own joke, even though he didn’t get the lyric right- but the laughter was bitter and hollow. “I mean it’s not as if I asked for much, you know?”

Grantaire shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the unmistakeable sound of a lump catching in his throat.

The guy flopped forward and hung his head in his hands, elbows propped clumsily on the edge of the bar. His head sank forward and his hands slipped into his hair, pulling the messy curls away from his face. He was wearing hearing aids. Grantaire felt a quiver of awkwardness stir in the back of his mind, but he quelled it with another sip of his drink, and moved on.

“Uh…” Grantaire said, not entirely sure what to say.

“I mean, he was my everything, you know?” His voice began to falter, teetering on the edge.

 _Not really._ Grantaire thought silently.

“How could he-” his voice cracked, “how could he j-just _leave_ l-like th-that-t?” Grantaire could tell he was trying to hold it in, even as the sobs shook him. “D-did he n-not c-c-c-are? At-t-t-t all?”

Grantaire gingerly patted the newcomer’s soft shoulder. Big mistake. The next thing he knew he had fallen sideways onto him and rested what felt like his entire body weight on Grantaire’s left shoulder. He buried his face in Grantaire’s hoodie and let the sobs consume him.

As he sat there, stranger crying on his shoulder, Grantaire looked back at his life and wondered what he had done to deserve this. He then decided to stop doing that, because the answer seemed to be _everything_.

With limited options left to him, he gently patted the crying guy on the shoulder, who was, now that he thought of it, still nameless to him.

What felt like an eternity later, but was probably only a few minutes, the crying subsided and the guy emerged from his hiding place. He wiped his nose on the back of his hand and dried his eyes on his shirt sleeve.

“Oh man, I am so sorry about that.” He said through shaky breaths. “You, um, have something on your shirt.” He said sheepishly.

Grantaire looked down and yep, sure enough there was a damp smear of snot and tears on his hoodie.

“Don’t worry about it, it needs a wash anyway.” Grantaire said. He grabbed a napkin from the table and dabbed at his shoulder. “So, uh, are you okay?”

He laughed shakily. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Do you wanna talk about it or…?” Grantaire asked, because that’s what people do in these situations, right?

“Hah, I think I just did.” He sighed heavily, “I’d been dating this guy for like a year and then this morning he was just like, _I’m leaving,_ and then he was gone.”

“That’s rough, buddy.” Grantaire said and took a swig from his bottle.

 “Don’t take this the wrong way or anything,” he added, “but I still don’t know your name.”

“Oh my god, where are my manners!” Courf sat up a little straighter and clutched his heart to his breast in a show of _true anguish_. "My mother would be so disappointed! I can almost hear her say “always introduce yourself _before_ crying on the shoulders of random guys at bars”. I am so ashamed!”

“Random guy? And here I thought I was special.” Grantaire said, with only the smallest hint of sarcasm in his voice. He took another swig from his beer.

“Courfeyrac, at your service.” He said with a flourish, and extended his hand for Grantaire to shake.

“Grantaire,” said Grantaire, taking it. An amused smile crept its way onto his face.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Courfeyrac said. He sniffed, and with it he appeared to collect himself. “I think I need a drink.”

***

Later that night, after Courfeyrac had sung his heart out (badly) to crappy break up songs. (“ _I will survive_ is a good song! Are you intent on hurting me to??”) Grantaire lay in his bed staring up at the stars through the skylight. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened that night, even less sure about the how or the why. It had been so bizarre- he and Courfeyrac had got along well. He’d had a laugh watching him doing bad karaoke. One minute he’d been drowning himself in drink, and the next he was having the time of his life.

But the night had come to an end, when the bar closed and they had to go their separate ways. It was over. Ended. Everything good came to an end. He knew it shouldn’t affect him so deeply. He shouldn’t care whether or not he ever saw Courfeyrac again. He shouldn’t care, but he did. He was in no way unfamiliar with the fleeting highs of life, but he could never get used to the come downs. In all likelihood he would never see Courfeyrac again. Usually that wouldn’t bother him, most of the people he met in bars weren’t all that. Courfeyrac, on the other hand, had been nice. He’d been fun. When was the last time he’d had fun like that?

Grantaire rubbed his hands over his face. He needed to sleep but his brain wouldn’t shut up. It was too quiet. The silence screamed in his ears; he wanted to shut it out, to bury his head in his pillow until it stopped, but that would do him no good. He groaned in frustrated resignation, he picked up his battered laptop and fired it up. It whirred to life with only a faint groan of resistance. He put on Blue Planet and the gentle sound of David Attenborough’s voice kept him company in the darkness until the morning.

When the sun rose and light streamed through the skylight, sleep finally claimed him.

As he slept, he was unaware of the flurry of snapchats arriving on his phone.

<Thanks for last night!>

<You cheered me up, made all the difference!!!>

<Omg look at this cat!!>

<Poor thing out in the cold!! L>

<I hope it has somewhere warm to go!>

<Bye cat!!!!>

***

After that weird and strangely wonderful first meeting Grantaire began to see more and more of Courfeyrac. At first it was nothing more than bumping into each other at the bar, but then they started hanging out in less noisy places (for which Courfeyrac was eternally grateful).

There was a café near campus, hidden away between a charity shop and a Chinese take away, which was close enough to campus they could go there between lectures. Being vaguely secluded it was more often than not the case that they were the only two there. Well, them and Alf, a doddery old man, who seemed to live at the corner table. If they were being perfectly honest, he may as well have done. He was, as they say, part of the furniture.

The café wasn’t perfect. It was always just a little but too cold, and it didn’t have Wi-Fi, but it was theirs. Before long Grantaire was spending an awful lot of time there, often without the presence of Courfeyrac. He told himself it was because they made good coffee (they did) and that it was on his way to campus from his flat (it was), but he knew he was deceiving himself. There was something about the place that drew him there, but what that was, he could not say. Even if he wanted to.

Courfeyrac had been the one to first suggest the place. He had, Grantaire soon found out, spent much of his first year studying there, (although these days he preferred the library for its proximity to the books he needed and computers with internet access).

It was on one of the many afternoons they spent in the café that Grantaire noticed something different about Courfeyrac. Being a theatre kid, and of a naturally sunny disposition, it was often difficult for one to tell the difference between a caffeinated Courfeyrac and a Courfeyrac with a secret. Or more specifically, a Courfeyrac with a secret he was dying to share. That was, perhaps, the reason it took Grantaire such a long time (thirty-three minutes and forty-five seconds, if one was counting) to realise the bouncing and jittering Courfeyrac before him, was bursting at the seams.

“Go on then,” Grantaire said at last, his voice fond, “What is it?”

Courfeyrac’s relief was practically visible. You could almost see it wash over him like waves washing over a sandy beach. Not to say that the bouncing ceased, that is, quite the opposite, in fact. He was positively vibrating.

“Nothing!” Courfeyrac blurted out of instinct, but he quickly lost that resolve and said, “Okay, promise you won’t laugh.” He raised his eyebrows at Grantaire warningly.

“No.” Grantaire replied, a shit eating grin planted itself on his face.

“Okay so, a few weeks ago, I met him in the caf. There wasn’t much space so I sat like two seats away from him on one of the big tables. He was reading while eating, not sure what he was reading but it looked like a text book or something, idk. Anyway, I ate my lunch. I had my headphones in, so I couldn’t hear anything of course. And then all of a sudden there’s dude crashing into me and I’m _covered_ in soup. Head to toe. I think I still have some behind my ears. My phone, the poor thing, was not saved. It bathed in the puddle of minestrone on the table, and I was helpless but to stare at it.” Courfeyrac threw his hand to his forehead in despair. “Such a price to pay for something so young.”

“You were saying about the guy.” Grantaire prompted him.

“Oh yeah!” Courfeyrac said, bringing himself out of the phone trauma. “So there I was, sat, covered in soup, staring at my phone, also covered in soup, and the guy who did the pouring of the soup is stood there laughing his arse off with his mates. Like what is this, school? And then, as if it really were school and as if it were, in fact a film, the guy sitting down from me stands up and just…” Courfeyrac gestured definitively, “he stands up and yells at them for being such- and I quote- “walking corpses with rotting potatoes for brains”! Like it was so beautiful!”

“He sounds great,” Grantaire said, the smile on his face more genuine now, the sarcasm having not lasted long. “Does he have a name?”

“Of course he does! Combeferre,” Courfeyrac was like a human embodiment of the heart eyes emoji, “But it’s not as if I’m in love with him or anything.” Courfeyrac said.

“Sure, and I’m not five foot nine with dark hair.” Grantaire retorted.

“No! I’m not, I swear! It’s just that _after_ that he went and got me napkins and helped me clean up all the soup, and then he invited me to join his society. Well it’s not actually his society, his friend actually runs it, but he asked me to come along, and he sounded really attractive, when he described it.”

“He sounded really attractive did he?” Grantaire teased.

“It! _It_ sounded more attractive, the society!” Courfeyrac turned red.

“I take it you _are_ going to this attractive ‘society’ then?” Grantaire asked.

“Uh, duh, of course. They have a regular meet up once a week but they also do other irregular activities. I’ve been a few times now,” Courfeyrac said. His jitters had steadied, and although he wasn’t completely still, he seemed more relaxed now that his secret was out in the open, right where it wanted to be. And if he was being honest, Grantaire wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Courfeyrac _completely_ still; he was the type of person who was in constant motion.

“Sounds great.” Grantaire said, over the rim of his coffee cup.

“Awesome! Oh man, you should come to the next meeting!” Courf said and he was back to being jittery again.

“Uh, I don’t really think-,” Grantaire said hesitantly.

“Omg, you’ll get to meet everyone, I haven’t even told you about the others there. Come on you have to come it will be great!”

Grantaire looked at Courfeyrac, and he was helpless. Saying no now would be like saying no to a puppy.

“Okay, meet me by the bar on Thursday at five thirty!” Courf scribbled on a napkin as he spoke and handed it to Grantaire.

“What, so I can see you going tits over arse over some new guy?” Grantaire said over the top of his coffee cup. “Sure, if you say so.”

“I do.” He said matter-of-factly. “Now don’t be late!”

***

That had been Tuesday, and it was the last Grantaire had heard from Courfeyrac until that Thursday. He had entirely forgotten about their rendezvous until he received a text at five twenty three that read: “ _On my way!! Don’t be late!!!”_

 _Well shit._ Grantaire thought. That only left him seven minutes to get dressed and make the ten minute walk. He could probably make it if he went in his pyjamas and ran, but he decided against that course of action with a glance out the window at the pouring rain.

“ _Just leaving now!”_ He texted back, and turned his attention to his clothing situation.

As a rule, Grantaire didn’t believe in laundry. This had absolutely nothing to do with his apartment not having a washing machine, and the nearest laundrette being a half hour walk from his place. Thus it followed that he hadn’t done any laundry in, well, if he’s being honest, what was probably a couple of months. His wardrobe was shockingly empty, and the mound of clothes behind his door was starting to grow a life of its own.

He managed to grab a pair of jeans from the top of the pile and his least disgusting hoodie and left to meet Courfeyrac at a brisk walk. (Another rule: running is strictly for emergencies. And nerds). He made it to the bar by five thirty four. Courfeyrac was already sitting on the low stone wall outside, waiting for him.

“Hey Grantaire!” Courfeyrac said, and jumped up from his perch. “You’re l-”

“Late, I know. Sorry man.” Grantaire said, cutting him off before he could berate him.

“Right,” Courfeyrac said, “better get going or we’ll miss the start.”

He started walking away from the bar and down a side street, leaving Grantaire standing still, confused.

“We’re not going in?” Grantaire said, gesturing vaguely at the bar Courfeyrac had very specifically asked him to meet by.

“No.” Courfeyrac said, as if that was a sufficient explanation. He rounded the corner and Grantaire had to catch up, perplexed.

"So, where _are_ we going?" Grantaire asked as he followed Courfeyrac down the unfamiliar street.

"La Mousain." He replied. "I told you, my friends are all gonna be there, don't you want to meet them?"

"Not really." Grantaire said, and chuckled nervously. He didn’t want to hurt Courfeyrac’s feelings, but if he was being honest he did not relish the thought of meeting a large group of Courfeyrac clones.

Courfeyrac clutched his chest and stopped dead in his tracks. "Grantaire," he breathed, "You wound me! Sometimes I think you forget how cruel your words can be." He sniffed.

A small smile found its way onto Grantaire's face. "I'm sure you'll get over it."

Courfeyrac started walking again. He fell into step beside him and linked his arm through Grantaire's, who had his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets.

"Come on, we're going to be late." He said, and dragged Grantaire with him down the street.

La Mousain turned out to be a café. A small café, in the far corner of which a group of people sat chatting merrily. Courfeyrac made his way towards them.

“Hey Courf!” A guy with fluffy hair and an undercut called across the room at the sight of the two of them approaching. He was wearing a bright green and orange polka dot jumper, the sleeves of which were rolled up three times, yet still managed to hang past the ends of his fingers.

 _Wow,_ Grantaire thought, _this guy has balls._

“Hey Jehan!” Courfeyrac replied and waved.

He and Grantaire reached the table they were all crowded around. There didn’t seem to be anywhere for them to sit, but somehow they managed to squeeze in. Grantaire ended up seated between Jehan and an extremely muscular guy with two full sleeves of tattoos.

Grantaire sat quietly, staring at the table, trying to decide if he could pull out his sketchbook. His fingers twitched. He flicked his fingers under the table.

“Grantaire, everyone! Everyone, Grantaire!” Courfeyrac introduced him.

Grantaire looked up to see everyone staring at him. He grinned.

“Sup,” he said and jerked his head in an upward nod.

 “Hey,” said the dude to Grantaire’s right. The one who was not Jehan. The one with a messy undercut and a tattoos all across his shoulders. “Bahorel.” He said, and extended his hand for Grantaire to shake.

Grantaire’s hand was swamped, and he felt, for once, small. It wasn’t a familiar feeling, and he was not sure that he liked the sensation.

Although Grantaire tried to pay attention to what Bahorel was saying, he couldn’t focus on the words; his attention wandered, his gaze falling on each of the other people at the table. Across the table from him a black girl with dreads piled up on the top of her head was gesturing emphatically while talking to the guy sat beside her, although Grantaire couldn’t make out what they were saying over the chatter.

Grantaire trusted Courfeyrac’s judgement. Thus far in their friendship, he was yet to lead Grantaire down a dark alley of regret, but there was always a first time for everything. The thing was, while they seemed harmless, Grantaire couldn’t help but feel like a fish out of water sitting amongst the other members of the society (which he soon found out was called the ABC for whatever reason). For starters there was the walking fashion disaster named Jehan, and then there was Bahorel beside him, the poster image of the type of person parents warn their kids to avoid.

If he was being fair (which, to be honest, Grantaire wasn’t in the habit of doing) he wasn’t sure what “his type of person” truly was. All his life he had been a floater. He hadn’t been a loner at school, but neither had he been popular. He had floated somewhere between the two. He was the guy everyone knew, but never really fit in to any particular group. So now being thrown into the deep end with Courfeyrac’s friends was unfamiliar and rather daunting, to say the least.

While it felt like hours had passed it could only really have been a few seconds since he had tuned out from what Bahorel was saying to him. Time was weird like that. It turned out Bahorel was telling Grantaire about ballet, of all things, and suddenly, as though an electric heater had been turned on, Grantaire saw past the impression Bahorel gave at a first glance- a Guy You Do Not Want To Mess With – and realised he was in fact a giant nerd. He warmed to him slowly. It wasn’t instant, but within a few minutes he felt as comfortable with Bahorel as he did with Courfeyrac.

The door swung open again and a short person with wild blonde hair rushed towards their table, weaving through the tightly packed café, arms filled with a large stack of papers and a travel cup wedged under his chin.

Grantaire tracked his movement across the room.

Noticing this, Bahorel nudged Grantaire’s arm and said, “That’s Enjolras, the final member and founder of the ABC.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said, “right.”

“I know, I know! I’m late. I’m so sorry.” Enjolras said, dumping the stack on the table and letting his satchel slide off his shoulder and fall to the ground.

He pulled his hair up into a pony tail, but even so it was still long enough for the curls to fall back over his shoulder and wisps of hair and escaped curls framed his face.

“Are we all here?” Enjolras said and looked out at the group.

When his gaze fell on him, Grantaire felt as though the air had been snatched from his lungs. It felt like the sun was shining directly on him, and that he was all the sun shined for.

“You’re new.” Enjolras said to him. “Welcome to the ABC. I’m Enjolras. I assume you’ve been introduced to everyone?”

“Yeah,” he said, “I’m Grantaire.”

“A pleasure to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire said, stupidly.

Enjolras looked away, back to his papers, and Grantaire felt the sun move away from him and a strange, uneasy feeling settled in his stomach.

“Right,” Enjolras said, “last time we discussed the bathroom issue. I’ve spoken to the administration and we can put up informational posters in all of them. Cosette, will you design them?”

“Sure!” said the blonde girl who was sitting on the other side of Bahorel. “I’ve already got a few ideas.”

“Excellent.”

“What’s this about bathrooms?” Grantaire whispered to Bahorel.

“We’re putting up posters in the bathrooms about trans students, and their right to use whichever bathroom is appropriate without being harassed.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. We’re trying to get them to install gender neutral bathrooms in the main buildings, but so far no luck.”

 _No shit,_ Grantaire thought, _not exactly the pinnacle of liberty in this shithole._

“So you’ve got posters?” Grantaire said with maybe more than just a smidge of scepticism.

“Yeah, we’re working on it.”

“Bahorel,” Enjolras interrupted them.

“Sorry, I was just filling Grantaire in.” Enjolras nodded.

 _It’s not a classroom, bro._ Grantaire found himself thinking.

The meeting continued in a similar fashion. It wasn’t as though Grantaire was trying to be a little shit, he really did care about Courfeyrac, but sometimes a situation aligned itself in just the right way that he couldn’t help it. There were just too many opportunities for him to poke holes. The meeting was, in all honesty, fairly innocuous, at least, it was innocuous in so far as it was insane.

It was one of the biggest clichés of university life, sitting drinking coffee, debating the best ways to save the world. Grantaire was, or rather had been, under the impression that it was one of those stereotypes that never actually _happened_. Like how Americans always assume every English person knows the Queen personally. But lo and behold, here he was, sat amongst the cliché, living and breathing.

Grantaire tried to be open minded ( _these are Courfeyrac’s friends, give them a chance,_ he thought) but the longer he sat there the more ridiculous the meeting became. At first it had been about getting vegan options in the cafeterias on campus, which, although Grantaire wasn’t a vegan, he couldn’t argue against when it came down to it. Then they started discussing their campaign for implementing gender neutral bathrooms across campus.

Of course, it wasn’t as though he had something against gender neutral bathrooms, but rather that the entire notion of a _campaign_ for _implementing them all across campus_ was nothing short of entirely barmy. It was a noble effort, but a _wasted_ one. No university campus was going to give enough fucks to do anything about it. They barely had sufficient funding to maintain the bathrooms they did have, let alone build entirely new ones. Or hell, not even to refurbish the existing bathrooms into gender neutral ones. Why bother trying.

“You can’t be serious,” Grantaire said, interrupting Combeferre who was outlining the main points of their pitch for administration.

The whole group turned to look at him, he felt very much like a rabbit in the head lights now all their focus was turned his way, but he was damned if he was going to show it.

“I mean think about it, the effort it would take? The money?” Grantaire gestured vaguely, “How could this ever work? You’re wasting your time.”

“Look Grantaire,” Enjolras said in a terse tone, “we are trying to achieve something here. Will you please just stop?”

Grantaire felt the glare of the sun beat down on him. If he had been a weaker man, it may well have made him lose his footing. But he wasn’t. He was made of stronger stuff than that. He cocked his head and the corner of his mouth pulled up in a lazy smile. Mocking.

“Don’t mind me, sunshine, I’ll be as good.” He said.

Enjolras bristled, stood up straighter. He opened his mouth but a gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him. He looked down at the owner of the hand, who Grantaire would later learn had been Combeferre. Grantaire couldn’t see his face but his expression must have said something meaningful because Enjolras closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded. Combeferre’s gaze lingered on Enjolras for a brief moment, then slipped away.

“So the meeting with the administration needs to be organised. I suggest we aim to speak to them by the end of next week. Does anyone want to volunteer for the meeting?” Enjolras said, ignoring Grantaire, as if he wasn’t even there.

Grantaire, somehow, didn’t disrupt the meeting again.

Well, at least not for another nine and a half minutes, which he considered admirable.

“Does anyone have anything they wish to discuss?” Enjolras asked the group. Grantaire did not fail to notice the way Enjolras’ eyes flickered in his direction. Whatever the hell that meant.

The way Enjolras had phrased the question made it sound like it was now an open forum for the other members of the group to bring up any other Issues. So Grantaire was surprised when Courfeyrac spoke next.

“You won’t believe the shit Dave tried to pull in my semantics seminar the other day!” and he launched into a full, detailed account of what Dave said.

It turned out this open forum was, in fact, a straight up gossip session. He huffed out a half chuckle at that. Enjolras was sat listening intently, with the same level of intensity he had had only moments ago when they were discussing all that nonsense about the bathrooms.

Grantaire yawned and looked at his watch. No wonder he was tired; he’d been at this meeting for just over two hours. He tuned back into the conversation apparently having missed a rather large chunk of Courfeyrac’s story.

“Of course, when I told him his shirt was inside out, he turned beetroot. But what was I supposed to do?”

Grantaire sighed. He would never know the middle of _that_ story.

“But, aren’t your clothes always inside out Courf?” Grantaire quipped.

“Oh come _on_ R,” Courf said.

Grantaire looked across the table to him and saw the expression on his face. It was a mixture of frustration and disappointment. He knew that look well, although it was the first time he’d seen it on Courfeyrac’s face.

There was a tense moment, and Grantaire did the only thing he could do to make the situation less awkward. He left.

He climbed backwards over the bench and walked to the door.

His mind was split in two. One part of it was nothing more than a haze; just white noise and static. A thick fog permeating every corner it could reach. The other part of wouldn’t shut up. It was analysing everything, going into overdrive. It argued with itself about every little detail, then it argued with itself over analysing anything at all.

It was exhausting. Grantaire just wanted to go home. So he did. He stepped out of the warm and cosy, café Mousain, into the night, and its cold wind and drizzle.


	2. Inexhaustible

Contrary to popular belief, Grantaire isn’t actually a complete slacker and good for nothing waste of space, (although yes he’d admit he would encourage that line of thinking).

The point is, sometimes, he does actually go to his lectures. For all his talk, he does actually want to pass his exams and graduate. Part of him knows it’s a pointless exercise, degree or not, it’s not going to make a difference to him in the long run. Not really. By the time he finishes university he’ll be in the exact same position as before.

Of course there was another part of him, which, at present, was shouting louder, that really, really, did not want to spend any more time at university than was absolutely necessary.

Which is how, at ten thirty in the morning, Grantaire was to be found at the Costa on campus, caffeinating for his eleven AM. He had overestimated how busy the coffee shop would be at that time in the morning, so he was left with half an hour to kill before his lecture started. If it hadn’t been raining, he would have sat outside. But it was so he couldn’t. He was left with the café. On the bright side, at least he had pretty much complete choice of seat.

He sat in the far back corner. It was his signature spot in any given situation, and who was he to question the natural order of the world. A thought that made him breathe a short, small, low chuckle.

He looked around the café but to see his fellow caffeinators were either busy waking up, somehow engrossed in something (as was the case for a guy a few tables away from him who seemed to be buried in a pile of textbooks and papers), or probably still awake from the night before; either just sobering up or still pissed from their night time escapades. Somehow, he wondered, he was not, for once, among the latter group of students.

He drank his coffee and doodled on the back of his receipt. He drew a forest of pine trees with faces which looked up at him hauntingly out of the paper. He didn’t want to dwell on whatever the hell that might be all about.

He drank his coffee and flicked through the music on his old and broken iPod. He couldn’t settle on anything to listen to; after only a few bars every song began to grate on his ears and he switched to another. After a good few minutes of trying to find something he gave up and shoved the wretched thing in his pocket. Making the executive decision to instead stare into space and think of absolutely nothing at all.

He didn’t mean to sulk or dwell. He didn’t plan on reliving the Meeting for Great Justice and the disappointed look on Courfeyrac’s face. How he left in shame. But sometimes his brain didn’t give him the luxury of choosing. It was like it wanted him to suffer. He played the scenes again and again, in a twisted performance of self-inflicted torture.

Grantaire was so wrapped up in this spiral of misery that he lost track of time. His phone buzzed, the five minute reminder he’d set for himself (as if to prove to something to someone, or something) and he jolted back to reality. He shoved his phone back into his pocket as he hurried out the door.

And walked straight into someone.

His coffee cup crumpled in his hand and splashed over the both of them. A flurry of papers fell to the ground, and there was the thunk of something heavy hitting the ground. A textbook.

“Shit.” Grantaire said.

“Could you look where you’re going?!” The Someone said curtly.

“Sorry man, I didn’t see you.” Grantaire said. The coffee trickled down his sleeve towards his elbow. He shook his arm in an effort to dissuade it.

“Hey! Watch it!” The Someone snapped at him.

It was then that Grantaire realised the hand he’d just shaken was still holding the remnants of his now lukewarm coffee, and thus, by shaking his arm, he had just poured the remaining liquid all over The Someone… and all the papers by their feet.

“Oh shit!” Grantaire said. The Someone shot him a look of pure hatred and annoyance. And Grantaire felt so goddamn small in their gaze, that his voice faltered. “I’m so sorry, I-”

“You.” The Someone said.

 _Double shit_. Grantaire thought, and it finally clicked. The Someone was the guy from the Meeting for Great Justice. The leader, in fact. Enjolras, wasn’t it?

Time seemed to stop for a moment as he processed this. He’d just walked into a guy he was pretty sure already hated him, or at least very much disliked him, and had managed to pour cold coffee all over him and his notes twice in the span of less than two minutes. Great.

He groaned internally. He was fairly certain this guy already hated him, and what had he done? Poured semi warm coffee all over him, and his notes, twice in the span of less than two minutes. Fantastic.

“Are you just gonna stand there and not help me clean this up?” Enjolras snapped.

Grantaire was plunged back into the present and time began to move again.

“Oh yeah, let me just,” he gestured to the crushed empty coffee cup in his hand. Enjolras gave a stiff nod.

Grantaire crossed the small courtyard outside the café and threw his sodden paper cup in the bin. He hoped Enjolras wasn’t going to give him shit about not recycling it; there weren’t any recycling bins in this part of campus.

He didn’t run, but didn’t exactly dawdle as he crossed the courtyard. His brain was having difficulties processing right now. Mostly all he could think was _god fucking dammit._ It was far too early. Which, he supposed, was the entire point of the coffee he had so spectacularly failed to ingest. Unless he could absorb the caffeine through osmosis in his hand, but he had a sneaking suspicion the odds were against him there.

He reached the spot in the courtyard where Enjolras was gathering his papers, only to find he had already gathered up most of it.

“I’m sorry about your notes.” Grantaire said, crouching down to help Enjolras rescue the last few sheets.

“It’s fine. Just look where you’re going next time.” Enjolras said dejected, although he seemed less enraged than before. As if he’d accepted his coffee soaked fate.

Grantaire spotted the left sleeve on Enjolras’ hoodie. The once red sleeve was now drenched and stained brown by the coffee. He felt a trickle of guilt slide down his throat and pool in his stomach. He knew from experience that it would be next to impossible to get it out; that hoodie was a goner.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-” he said.

“Yeah, its fine.” Enjolras cut him off. “I have to go.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Grantaire said weakly. His voice was small. It made him feel hollow.

He watched as Enjolras stalked off out of the courtyard. And as he watched him round the corner out of sight he felt his stomach squirm. He felt as if a weight had been dropped in, and he was overcome with a sickly feeling. He shook his head to clear his mind of whatever the hell this feeling was.

He rubbed his damp hands on his jeans to dry them. It began to rain. He pulled up his collar and headed to his lecture. His brain still buzzing and fuzzy.

Grantaire glanced at his watch; he had 2 minutes before he was late to his lecture. He speed walked across the courtyard and around the corner into the building. Up the stairs and through the doors at the back of the lecture hall. Although he technically made it in time, he still had to sneak to a seat because, just as his luck would have it, the lecture had started early.

He settled into a seat in the back row and slouched down in his chair. He pulled out a notebook from where it had been rolled up in his coat pocket and started to take notes from the lecture, but his heart really wasn’t in it. If he were to be asked what the lecture was on, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. In fact, without looking at the notebook itself, he wouldn’t have been sure he’d attended it at all.

***

Enjolras scurried up the stairs and along the corridor to his seminar

“Hurry in Enjolras,” his tutor said, “not like you to be late.”

“Sorry,” Enjolras murmured, and he slid into his usual seat by the door.

“The presentation is in two weeks” Jonathan – his tutor – said, “remember it counts for fifteen percent of this year’s grade, so you can’t afford to leave it to the last minute. If you need any advice it isn’t too late to come to my office during office hours”

Enjolras spent the seminar in a bad mood. His hoodie was still damp from where Grantaire had spilled his coffee on him, and it was making his notes smudge on the page. He pulled it off over his head to hang over his chair at one point, but the air conditioning in the room was set too high and he had goose bumps for the rest of the session.

It began to rain the moment he stepped out of the building. Unable to decide whether or not to go home to change before his next lecture, he started walking, with no real destination in mind.

His phone buzzed with a text from Combeferre.

12:48PM: Do you want to get lunch?

Squinting through the rain at his phone he texted back a short reply.

He ended up meeting Combeferre in a crowded Nandos a few minutes’ walk from the main campus. He wass glad to finally be warm again, and after he grumbled about his morning, Combeferre offered him his spare jumper from his gym bag. Enjolras accepted it gratefully, slipping the soft fleece on. The sleeves were way too long, and he needed to roll them up at the cuffs, but it was a very welcome change from his damp hoodie.

By the time their food arrived Enjolras had finally finished ranting about his morning.

“Sorry Ferre,” he said, “I didn’t mean to be a downer.”

“Nah man, it sounds like you’ve had a bit of a day.”

“You can say that again.” Enjolras joked, so Combeferre did. Which made Enjolras laugh, and he could finally feel the tension leaving his shoulders.

“Don’t let him get to you.” Combeferre said.

Enjolras rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “I know. God, at the meeting? Why was he even there? He doesn’t believe in _anything!_ ”

“Courfeyrac brought him along, they’re good friends.”

“God knows why.” Enjolras muttered.

“That’s not exactly fair, Enj.” Combeferre said gently. “We haven’t seen him outside of meetings, this morning notwithstanding. We don’t know what he’s like when he’s comfortable.”

“I suppose so.” Enjolras sighed once more, “Tell me about your day, I hope it’s been better than mine?”

And so, Combeferre told Enjolras about his morning. It was, in short, uneventful. The most exciting thing to have happened to him today was over filling his water bottle and splashing water over his toes before leaving their shared flat. But Enjolras listened, as Enjolras always listened, and cared genuinely about Combeferre’s morning, as he always cared.

They didn’t mention Grantaire again that day, and they didn’t mention the meeting either. They didn’t mention the upcoming meetings they had planned for the ABC. It was almost as if they lay forgotten, pushed back to some dark, dusty corner of their minds.

Almost.

***

Grantaire sat at one of the library computers staring at a blank word document. It wasn’t often that Grantaire could be found in the library but he had a thesis to write. It was six months from the final deadline but as part of their grade they had to hand in an extended plan or short draft by the end of the week. He was well aware that the rest of his classmates had started their plans weeks, if not months, ago.

The fact of the matter was, that, given the choice, he wouldn’t even bother. But if he wanted to graduate on time he had to get this damned thing done. Every time he thought about writing it he seriously considered how bad it would be if he simply… didn’t write it. Unfortunately, it would probably be very, very bad.

_Ding!_

His phone buzzed; a text from Courfeyrac. He’d forgotten to put it on silent and the noise earnt him a dirty look from a girl down the row from him. He didn’t care.

3:26PM: yo, wanna grab coffee?

3:26PM: actually no wait, can’t

3:27PM: gotta go collect a present for my granny in town

3:27PM: I ordered it but it wasn’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow, oops

3:29PM: another time

Grantaire laughed out loud at that, earning him yet another stern look from the girl down the row. He still didn’t care. He tapped out a reply.

**3:31PM: no worries man**

3:31PM: oh hey Grantaire abt the meeting

3:32PM: its totally chill

3:32PM: but like maybe next time dont shoot down everyones ideas and stuff

3:33PM: i love having you there, but i don’t want to like, make anyone feel uncomfy at all yanno?

Grantaire read the texts over twice.

_Next time next time next time next time next time next time…_

**3:37PM: okay**

_Well that was a fucking stupid thing to say_ he said to himself the instant the message has sent. Unable to find anything else to say to rectify the situation, he put his phone on silent and turned back to his blank word document of doom, and back to his hope that the computer would just break so he wouldn’t have to do this assignment.

***

Somehow, and if you asked he would not have been able to tell you, Grantaire ended up at the next meeting. La Mousain was, as previously, not that filled, however the corner they used for the ABC meetings was still too cramped for nine people. Even after they had hijacked a nearby table and its chairs.

Joly, Grantaire had noticed, was sitting in Bossuet’s lap. Although, he couldn’t see how that could be practical for the meeting, at least it meant they had slightly more space, and Grantaire didn’t have to squish onto the bench by the wall again.

Grantaire drank a bad coffee and laughed at their ideas. Well, not all of them. He didn’t laugh when they suggested finding a bigger space in which to hold meetings.

***

Enjolras squirmed when he saw Grantaire meander through La Mousain towards the meeting table. Had he come to apologise for being such a little shit last time? He took a second to breathe, and to remember his conversation with Combeferre. It didn’t matter why Grantaire was here, but he couldn’t help but silently hope that he wouldn’t be as disruptive this time around. He hoped, but he wasn’t hopeful.

“Hey, what’s the cause today?” Grantaire asked as he sank into a corner chair.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, and he smiled brightly, despite his wariness of his presence.

“Sup Apollo.” Grantaire said with an upward head jerk.

 _Not to apologise then_. Enjolras thought.

Enjolras was surprised that Grantaire was early to the meeting. Not even Combeferre had arrived yet. He hadn’t pegged this guy to be the type to run to a schedule.

Before he could say anything else just then, Bahorel came crashing into the café. The door flew open and he tumbled through it and down to the ground. He narrowly missed an elderly couple sat nearest the door. Enjolras winced. That must have been painful. But the way Bahorel jumped back up with a smile on his face made him back track his thoughts.

“Are you okay?” Enjolras asked him.

“Sure!” Bahorel said, sliding into a chair. “Merely a flesh wound.”

Grantaire laughed a low gruff chuckle, catching Enjolras’ attention, and from the corner of his eye, he could see Grantaire duck his head and smile.

“You have got to stop falling over like that man!” Combeferre said.

“Whoa! Where did you come from?” Grantaire asked him turning his head, taken by surprise at the sight of Combeferre suddenly standing beside him.

“I came in with Bahorel.” He said, shrugging off his back pack. “Pay attention man.”

Combeferre touched Enjolras on the shoulder and slid into the seat beside him.

“Good day?” Enjolras asked Combeferre.

“Yeah not bad. I finished the second draft of my essay.” He replied.

 “Second draft?” Grantaire took a long sip of coffee. “What course is your essay for?”

“Biology.” Combeferre said.

“You have essays in biology?” Grantaire asked, from the expression on his face Enjolras could tell that this had surprised him.

“Well yeah.” Combeferre said. “We’re sort of doing the evolution of genetics.” He chuckled. “So we had to write about how evolutionary theory has evolved in the past two hundred years.”

“Sounds intense.” Grantaire said. “Not gonna lie though, essays in biology just feels wrong.”

“It’s an optional module, but if you take it you have a better chance of being a research assistant in third year. Gotta beat the competition.”

“Survival of the fittest. Cool.” Grantaire said, and Enjolras could see him hiding a faint smile behind his coffee cup.

Combeferre clapped Grantaire on the shoulder. “I know you couldn’t be all bad man!”

The meeting, Enjolras was surprised to find, went without so much as a bump in the road. Grantaire was, although not spectacular, less confrontational during the course of things. Perhaps it was just that he was taken less by surprise this time, since he knew exactly what he was getting himself in for. Or perhaps it was he was simply in a better mood today.

That is not to say, of course, that Grantaire didn’t disrupt at all. Quite the opposite in fact. As far as Enjolras can tell Grantaire had gone to great lengths to argue, perhaps even _more_ actively than the first time around. The difference was, most of his points are relevant this time. Enjolras didn’t think for a second that Grantaire had done any research for anything he said, but he couldn’t help but notice that the comments and criticisms he made were, at least somewhat, directed.

He did his best to ignore him. The more he engaged with Grantaire the further from the point they would veer. It was difficult, to say the least; at some points Grantaire’s criticism crept dangerously close to personal insults. Despite this, however, they did manage to get more done than they had the previous meeting… or, in fact, the meeting before that. Enjolras wasn’t quite sure how that was possible, but he’d take it. At least something was getting done.

The meeting wrapped up and Grantaire left by himself again. Enjolras watched him walk out the door, hands stuffed in his pockets, hat pulled down low over his ears. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. It was knotted and in desperate need of a trim.

He looked up at Combeferre and said, “Are you walking home?” Combeferre shook his head. “Mind if I catch a ride?”

Combeferre smiled and picked up his jacket and passed it to Enjolras, who gratefully accepted it.

They were the last to leave La Mousain and they waved goodbye to the owner as they walked through the door. It was a cold night, there were no clouds and the stars shone bright in the dark sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very unedited and short, for which I apologise. I've done the best I can with it, but I wish I could do better. I have had a lot (a lot) going on in my personal life, so its been very difficult to write anything lately. I wanted to get this posted before NaNoWriMo starts because I know that I won't write anything for this at all during November and most of December as a result. I hope you like this installment!


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